My knuckles were raw and covered in blood. My breathing is erratic. My heart was frozen. Until I looked up.
There she stood.
Drenched in the rain, silver hair sticking to her skin, wearing some other bastard’s clothes. My lips curled into something between a snarl and a grin. My eyes dragged over her, and I was suddenly hungry for something else.
I’d spill oceans of blood for her. Tear kingdoms apart, watch empires burn, crush anyone who dared so much as glance at her the wrong way.
I would be her monster.
There’s no way I am ever leaving her again. I won’t survive it—I know I won’t. She’s the only goddamn light I’ve got in this black pit I live in.
To everyone else, I’m the monster they scream about in their nightmares. But my little witch… she looks at me like I’m the cure to every damn horror that’s ever haunted her. And fuck, maybe I am. She makes me feel like I’m worth her, like I could be enough.
I don’t give a fuck about anybody else.
Her lips curl into that breathtaking, dangerous smile that makes my knees go weak, and her fingers grip the dagger, thrumming with dark magic that knows exactly what she is… and what she could be.
And then she’s running.
In a blur, she’s in my arms, leaping up and crashing her mouth against mine like she’s been starving for me.
I feel the same; she’s been on my mind every second of every day. My cock has constantly been hard, which is a bit of a problem when killing morons.
I grip her tighter, pressing my body against hers, teeth clashing as sparks of magic crackle between us. My tongue finds hers, claiming her with a hunger that has no limits. I want every piece of her—every thought, every inch, every heartbeat. I want to break her, ruin her, to consume her entirely—and then put her back together again.
She’s mine.
Her dagger slips from her fingers, clattering to the ground, forgotten—because now her hands are in my hair, tugging hard, and fuck, I groan into her mouth. The pain, the possession—it only makes me want her more.
Just as my teeth sink into her plump bottom lip, a promise to do wicked things to her, she pulls back. A bead of blood wells up,red and perfect, and I can’t look away. My tongue aches to taste it, to taste her.
I want to mark her.
Taste her.
Fuck her.
“I missed you,” she says quietly, smiling like she hasn’t just torn a hole in my damn chest with three little words.
I grin back. “Did you now?” I murmur, letting my grip on her just go enough for her perfect little body to slide slowly, tortuously down mine. Every curve, every inch of her pressed against me like she had always belonged there.
But then my fingers find the hem of her hoodie. It’s not hers. I know her Cherry and vanilla scent, and this fabric reeks of somebody else.
I twist it between my fingers and look down at her, my gaze steady and calm. “Cute hoodie.”
Her eyes flash with guilt.
But she shouldn’t feel guilty.
At first, I wondered if she would have moved on and forgotten about me. I know who the others are to her, how she feels about them. It clawed at me every single night the whole month I was away from her. It drove me insane.
Well, more insane than I already am.
But then I saw her again and she ran to me. The way she kissed me was like her life depended on it. And those three words—I missed you—they snapped something back into place.
It confirmed that she is still mine and she always will be.
I suppose I can share.
